


When the World Needs Superman

by truc



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Amnesia, Anger, Angst, Does Bruce Wayne need him?, Does the World need Superman?, Friends to Enemies, Guilt, Heroes, Love, M/M, Manipulation, Messed up dynamic, Not a bandaid ending, Power Dynamics, Unethical Behaviour, Unhealthy Relationships, Villains, hard choices, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truc/pseuds/truc
Summary: Batman's Insurrection won: the Regime has fallen and; Superman is imprisoned in a red light room. Unfortunately, the long-standing war means the Earth is almost undefended, leading to Bruce making some hard choices.Worried that the world may need Superman in its moment of need, Bruce erases some of Superman's memories. Will Bruce's gambit play out as intended? Or will the fallout of his decision destroy everything he set out to save?
Relationships: Batman & Harley Quinn, Superman & Harley Quinn, Superman/Batman, Wonder Woman & Batman & Superman
Comments: 14
Kudos: 135





	1. Prologue

Clark scowls at the woman in front of him. She's popping her chewing gum. Loudly. However, that's far from being her only rude behaviour. Sprawled on an unbalanced chair, she's doodling on a Christmas notebook, feet squarely on the table separating them.

"I don't understand," Clark admits for the ninth time. 

"Of course, you don't, dummy brain," Harley Quinn answers without looking up. 

He's patient enough to keep his calm, although he's aware it's also due to his lack of option under the red light. "Why would Batman send you to evaluate me?"

Harley chews her gum some more before rolling her eyes. "Okay, this is the last time I'll explain the deal. First thing, I'm Harley Quinn, a renown psychologist."

"Until you ran off with Joker and became a renown criminal in Gotham," Clark adds, arms cross over his chest. 

"Riiiight. I'm a 'reformed criminal,' whatever that means. Bats, who everyone knows is Bruce Wayne, sent me here to evaluate you because your brain suffered some trauma."

"I don't believe that," Clark interrupts.

She sighs. Her drawing looks suspiciously like Superman with a unicorn horn on his forehead.

"You say he's alive, unharmed and in this facility, yet, he's letting you interview me? That not how he operates," Clark strongly asserts. For the first time since the beginning of the horrid 'interview,' Harley glances at him, interested. Opening her mouth, she lets out a laugh that sounds hauntingly like the hissing decompression of a pierced balloon. When the ugly sound finally recedes, Harley sits straight (with her feet still on the table, of course) and answers.

"You believe me when I tell you that Metropolis, with your dear Lois Lane, vanished in the blink of an eye; you believe the mass villain' lobotomization; you believe me when I tell you that the world's a mess; you believe me when I tell you that you're missing years of knowledge. The information you can't accept is that Bats would not interrogate you himself?" 

Said like that, Clark supposes it looked stupid. However, everything else could make sense. The world was a mess; when wasn't it the case? Was Metropolis gone because of a villain's ploy? Villains and aggressive aliens had tried to destroy it for years. Was it so strange that they might succeed? 

His heart aches at the implication that Lois died. Knowing himself, he takes comfort in knowing he tried his best to save her and Metropolis. It made sense that his brain would have been affected if the thing that destroyed Metropolis had hit him at full blast. It was logical that Bruce had recovered his body and had brought it to the Fortress of Solitude to recover. 

During the unrest that followed Metropolis's destruction- what else was also destroyed?-, leaders had hardened their punishment of threats, hence the villains'lobotomization. Clark could see the causal link between those incidents.

The Justice League had limited means to interfere with countries' sovereignty. Bruce had tried to limit the higher power's oppression. Maybe every superheroes' identity had been revealed by the government in retaliation to the Justice League's actions.

Nonetheless, according to Harley Quinn, Bruce had attempted to heal Superman's mind. To protect everyone, Bruce might have placed Superman under the supervision of trusted individuals and red light until he woke up. 

Still dizzy with the amount of information provided, Clark was focusing on the facts that didn't corroborate with his knowledge: Harley hadn't disclosed why Bruce had entrusted her with Clark's interview instead of coming. 

"How can I believe anything you tell me if there's such an obvious flaw in your reasoning?" Clark asks. 

Harley removes her feet from the table in one swell move. Standing up, she examines him as the pitiful ant she believes he is, eyes twinkling and jaw still chewing. Finally, she swallows her gum. "Seeing how we'll simply continue moving in a circle, I'll get him to come to meet you." Leaning forward, one hand on her hips, she whispers, "Between us, dummy brain, Bats is scared. That's why he's not here, conducting this useless interview."

That made no sense to Clark. "Of what?"

She shrugs nonchalantly. "Who knows? I'm a shrink, not a telepath. I'd guess unresolved issues, but that's always what I picked on my exams. If you ever plan on taking the psychology exams, it's never the wrong choice; everyone's got issues. Bats merely has more of those."

Then, the blonde's ponytails whip as she turns and walks to the exit. Clark is smart enough not to attempt any altercations; he still has a lot to figure out about this situation. Besides, he's dying to see Bruce and hear his version of events. Maybe his best friend can help him achieve closure about Lois's, the Daily Planet's and Metropolis's loss. 

After all, Bruce was great at bringing people up to speed about complex situations.


	2. Brainiac

_**"Ya sure you want to do that, Bats? Memories are a finicky thing to play with."** _

Clark waits for minutes that transform into a half of an hour before Batman finally enters the room. As always, the costume hides almost everything about the man; if Bruce had prosthetic limbs, Clark wouldn't know about it. The lower face displays no expression nor emotion, be it happiness or hesitation. Without x-ray vision, Clark feels blind.

Nonetheless, he recognizes, without doubt, the man inside the armour as Bruce. Without realizing when he rose, Clark cautiously asks, "Bruce?"

The man looks at him from a few paces away, stopping his progression in the room. "Clark," he croaks as if he had grown unused to the name. And, for some reason, Clark feels tremors of frustration and resentment vibrate through his body.

Clark. _Wrong._ He's not Clark. _He can't be._

Yet, that's the name he's always preferred.

Bruce observes him from afar, caution written in every line of his form. And Clark feels his anger sharpening like stalactites with erosion. The enormous room seems to surround them in a claustrophobic space, tightening the screw on the feelings surging in him.

"Maybe I should leave," Bruce says, emptiness in his tone.

"No," Clark snaps back. Leaning on the table with both hands, he notices his friend's wary attitude.

Seeing Bruce's stoicism, he realizes he must calm down or, he'll lose this opportunity. Clark presses the palm of one hand on his forehead.

"I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry," Clark apologizes, ill at ease with his uncharacteristic behaviour. While he was discussing with Harley, he hadn't felt this frustrated or disoriented. Was he reacting to Bruce's presence?

Batman steps closer. "You're still recuperating. Try to drink some water; it might help with the headache."

Chest heaving, Clark watches Bruce pour him a glass of water. When Clark grabs the drink, his hand brushes Batman's hard gauntlet. However, he feels the other man recoil from the touch as if zapped.

Under his friend's careful eye, Clark empties his glass. "Thanks, I feel much better," Clark lies as he sits.

Bruce sits in front of him, back straight, quiet.

"You can remove your cowl, Bruce, you know. Especially if everyone knows who you are. It must be uncomfortable under this intense light."

Clark is surprised when his friend takes up on his suggestion.

The graying hair at the temples doesn't surprise him as much as he would have thought. Instead, what takes him by surprise is the paleness of the skin of his upper face, one that hasn't seen the light of day for years.

The man looks at him and asks, "Do you know what or who Brainiac is?"

Clark nods. "Brainiac is a being with immense power and intelligent set on collecting a collection of technology. He captured some Kryptonian cities before Krypton's fall." Then, he understands the purpose of the question. "Is he here? Is he on Earth?" He sees a flash of a rebuilt Metropolis, looking all sleek and modern.

A small nod confirms his fears. "That's bad. What's our plan?"

" _I'm_ working on it. _You're_ still recuperating."

Clark can't believe the words he's hearing. "Bruce, the League needs all the help they can get! I don't think you understand how dangerous he is. Krypton was extremely advanced technologically speaking, but there was nothing they could do to overpower him! He plunders what he wants and destroys the rest."

Bruce gives him his look, the one he's always applied to subdue him. Already, Clark knows his pig-headed friend will leave without further ado; apparently, he had only visited him to get information out of Clark. Why couldn't he listen to Clark once in a while?

In one efficient movement, Bruce stands, looks him over and walks to the exit. Somehow, Clark's hand catch the other man's arm. He briefly remembers having pushed Bruce against the wall at another time, frustrated intensity in his stomach. Bruce's eyes had then mirrored his own fervorous reaction. Blinking away the strange vision, he attempts to reason with his friend. "Wait, Bruce. Let me help! The League needs to be united to counter a threat of this level."

Bruce's eyes sadly examine him, overdone familiarity in their intensity and perceptibility in their hue- loneliness he had undoubtedly inherited with his Mission's burden. "Clark, the League disbanded a while ago. Everyone, but I, needed a break from this madness. You need to heal. The last thing we need is an out of control Kryptonian creating more panic. Thanks for the information. Take care." The heartfelt goodbye hit hard the Kryptonian.

Squeezing harder his friend's arm, Clark rummages through his brain to find another idea to convince his friend out of his fool's errand. His vivid impression of touching Bruce's body with a burning passion comes back to mind.

Relying on the half-formed memory, Clark presses his luck and his lips into Bruce's.

Whether or not this was a kiss was uncertain; one pair of lips certainly melted on the surface of another, desperately seeking answers from the other's notoriously tight-lipped mouth.

And, for a glorious moment, Clark feels the thrumming of purpose beating in his heart- until Bruce breaks the embrace and the spell.

Bewildered, Bruce backs down, staring at Clark as if at a ghost. "What are you doing?" Underneath the quiet solemnity of the words, Clark can feel his friend's restlessness.

Clark releases Bruce's arm, frustrated with the other man's omission of such an important fact. "Why didn't you tell me instead of letting me flounder around the truth blindly?" Clark accuses with raw fury in his tone, deja-vu frustration overpowering his content state.

"What," Bruce almost mumbles out.

The Kryptonian narrows his eyes menacingly and gestures at them. "Why didn't you tell me about us?"

Bruce visibly swallows. "I thought it would make it easier for us to work together."

"Does it?" Clark snorts mockingly. "You're not protecting me by hiding the truth! Your protectiveness is blinding you! You need me to help defeat Brainiac. By locking me up until I'm well enough to fight, you're dooming us to fall under Brainiac's hegemony."

For a split second, Bruce seems perplexed by his vehemence and his words. "I'll see you later." With that, he escapes the room.

Clark hits the wall in frustration to disperse some of his pent-up energy. Instantly, his hand throbs in pain.

At least, now, he knows two new things about his loss of memory. One, he remembers Metropolis's rebuilding, meaning that Clark has not been in a coma since Metropolis's destruction as he had deduced. Two, Clark had been Bruce's lover sometime after Metropolis's destruction; Bruce had attempted to hide that fact-how else could he explain away the dread he had spotted in his friend's eyes after the kiss?-, probably due to his self-deprecating issues. Although he does not remember the exact details, Clark reminisces the intense passion in the way he had touched his best friend. He remembers how it was reciprocated.

Ruefully, Clark returns to his seat. Bruce would eventually accept his help as the only reasonable option. Why did Bruce always frustrate him that much? Why couldn't he just listen to Clark once in a while?

As self-assured as Bruce appeared, Clark had proven him wrong more than once. He'd just do it again.

***

To say that Bats is an awful mood is the same as saying that Harley's hyenas are carnivorous (training them to eat vegetables failed). It's redundant. Case in point, Harley can't remember one time Bats wasn't moody.

Thankfully, her job had never been to cheer him up. She doubts anyone would have been capable of that particular feat. Instead, she smiles at him and shoves an elbow into his armoured covered ribs (that hurts!). "You never told me you were Supey's lover! Geez, Bats, learn to share good bedtime stories instead of ultra-dry textbook tales." He glares at her.

"Come on, Bats, he could've have remembered he had been trying to kill you for years. That's lucky!"

"Brainiac?"

"Hasn't moved since he's asked for your sweet dictator boyfriend and our technology."

Bruce grits his teeth. "We can't give either."

Harley shrugs. "Can't say I'm surprised that's your take, Bats. So, do we beam it up?"

"We need allies."

Same old Bats. Always needing things they haven't got. At one point, you'd think he'd learn to manage expectations. "Think we'll find some in the sewers or the near the Earth's core? I bet they hid in the rabbits' hole during the war. Oh! Maybe they're like frogs; they need some defrosting to be useful?"

Bats stop walking. "We'll try to stop Brainiac with our resources. Should that fail, Regime members will be our contingency plan."

"What's your plan when they take control of the world? Beg forgiveness?"

The man in black presses his lips together. "Superman is the leader. Right now, he's not a threat."

Harley shakes her head. "Yeah, inducing amnesia is nice and all, but that kind of amnesia normally lasts only a couple of hours, max. Even if you got it right and it lasts longer, it's temporary. If you're not careful with your 'experiment,' he'll be useless to us."

Bats clench his fists, lowers his head and walks further into the hall.

Bats had no sense of humour. It's too bad he didn't have his littl' Robin to joke around anymore. Harley misses all of the versions of him except the scowling one and the extra serious one.

Maybe, Harley wonders, they were the canary in the mines. When they died, the world burned.

Or maybe Pudd'ng was the canary. Who knows anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone confused, in this story's past, Clark and Bruce have never been lovers. Clark interpreted the unresolved tension between them as romantic/sexual tension; although Bruce realizes that Clark is misunderstanding the situation, he can't afford trying to explain things without worsening his position with Clark (especially since he has no idea what kind of memory led Clark to believe they were a couple).


	3. Promises

**_"Bruce, when Brainiac is dead, by Hera, I vow I'll kill you for what you did to Kal, for what you are doing to him now. Kal deserved loyalty and you betrayed him over and over again. That's unforgivable."_ **

Batman falls in a seat, feeling the tired aches of an aged body still fighting disadvantageous probabilities. Uphill battles aside, barely anyone is left beside him except for a madwoman, a remnant of Bruce's failing.

"Bats," the madwoman in question pants, "well, that was fun. When are we doing that again?"

Plan A fell apart.

Brainiac was too much for the ghost resources of Earth.

Eyes shut, his logic was already electing his second option.

They needed Superman's help.

**Damn you, Clark!**

Bruce wants nothing more than to bloody his fists on the innocent furniture, raining his wrath upon his surroundings, fighting against the world's obstacles that keep falling in his path. He wants to yell at this unceasing flow of hardship and hard decisions. He wants to sleep at night; Tim, Jason, Dick and Damian safely tucked in bed; Alfred, relaxed and nagging; he wants his colleagues back: Clark, Diana, J'onn, Ollie, Dinah, Hal and Barry, drinking beer together.

He wants out of this neverending nightmare.

It would be so easy to lose control, to abdicate, to lie down and die in this sinking sand, metaphorically disappearing as he struggles to regain his footing.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Bruce wearily opens his eyes. "Reach Flash and Aquaman; we'll be going all in."

Harley licks her lips and grins. "And leave you with lover boy? Naughty boy, you!"

"Where's our last sighting of Wonder Woman?" Bruce elects to ask, ignoring her foolishness.

The woman types some key in the computer. "Gal got seen 'ver St-Louis."

Heaving himself up, Bruce steels his nerves for two unpleasant meetings, one with an amnesiac best friend, one with a former best friend with too much awareness. Without further ado, he organizes each conversation, predicting their reactions and anticipating his response.

Just as he's about to leave, Harley calls him back, "Bats?"

"Yes."

She gives him a tumb's up. "I've got this, Boss."

Already, Bruce regrets sending her to organizes his collaborators, convinced he'll deal with her well-intentioned (maybe?) debacle.

Well.

She's still here, despite their odds against the Regime, despite their odds now.

That's something. After all, beggars can't be choosers.

Bruce nods and leaves.

***

The dome looms above him, taunting him with impalpable memories, mislaid emotions and disoriented sensations. Sometimes, intuitive flashes of thoughts surge through the mist-covered extent of missing years, neuro connections created and undone in a frustrating span of microseconds. Thus afforded glimpses of his past annoy him more than the blankness of absolute ignorance as if a complete lack of knowledge is preferable to crumbs of unclear data.

Writing bits and pieces of the puzzle has failed to grant him clarity.

Bruce, Clark knows, is a central part of the mystery: he hides his secrets more efficiently than anyone Clark has ever known.

Bruce, his lover. Everlasting flame of determination bundle in self-sacrifice and tempered shrewdness; he continues to hurt himself as a double-edged sword he is.

Lois. Perry. Jimmy. Daily Planet.

They are all gone, dissolved from this world.

Diana's still alive; vaguely, he remembers her comforting him of his pain.

Abruptly, Clark yearns to confer with her: outrightly missing her forthrightness and compassion especially. Maybe she'd be able to help him bridge his world to this one.

When the door opens, he startles out of his seat, impatient to leave this indifferent room.

"Bruce," he stutters, "you've come back."

His companion does not answer as he walks guardingly into the room. Clark pulls him close to his chest and hugs him as much as he can. Batman lets him do it, even going as far as leaning his head on his shoulder.

Awash with relief, Clark feels the vice grip of possessiveness and frustration return.

"Why do you always do that, Bruce? Why can't you listen to me for once? I bet you almost got killed again. Because you wouldn't listen to me."

It was true. Bruce never listened to him; he was too pigheaded to listen. He always knew best.

That hadn't changed one bit.

"Clark, we don't have time for this. I need help to defeat Brainiac. Are you willing to help?" Somehow, his voice seems fragilized, like a helpless wish from an overtired child.

The cowl is still on, however, Clark wants to card his fingers in Bruce's hair, to confirm what his words mean: "I'll always help. That's what Superman stands for, remember?" The lame joke lands awkwardly on Bruce.

"I do," Bruce answers solemnly.

"Will Diana come too?"

"Yes."

Even though the armour covers Bruce's body, Clark wants to rip away the shell and reassure his friend. The moment seems as fragile as Bruce is.

"It'll be good to see her again," Clark lightly states. "The whole gang back in action again."

For a moment, Bruce doesn't answer. Then, he asks, "What do you remember?"

"I don't remember much except bits and pieces."

The pause lingers.

"You don't have to feel guilty, Bruce, of taking advantage of my lack of memory. I, at least, remember how I feel about you. I want us to continue, so don't keep me out of the loop, Bruce; we've always been stronger together."

"Is that so?" Bruce mutters against his shoulder.

"We are. Do you remember Magpie? God, we were ridiculous back then!" Clark snorts. "I wanted to arrest you based on rumours and you, you threatened me with your own life!"

"Mmmm. Not so ridiculous. It worked."

Clark laughs, "Only because you're the best bluffer I've ever known." He imitates Batman's voice, "'An innocent will die if you come too close.'" Shaking his head, he can't stop smiling about their first encounter. "You always had a flair for dramatics. I'm pretty sure I would have listened to you, without hostages, if you had sounded reasonable."

"I'm always reasonable."

"That so? I suppose I'm the only one who remembers the notorious Poison Ivy incident."

"Mmm."

"Memories are a funny thing, Bruce; I can see the vivid details of life before five years ago, but I can't even remember how we finally got together." It feels so right to talk about unimportant things with Bruce, especially with how the other leans heavily on him- Bruce needs support now more than ever.

"Mmm."

"Bruce, you're falling asleep on your feet."

"Mmm."

"Uh, Bruce? I don't have superstrength anymore and I don't want to drop you on the floor."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out, Superman."

"You were only pretending to be asleep? That's it, I'm dropping you!"

"That'll keep me awake until I get my coffee."

"Bruce, you need to rest. You have to be at your sharpest."

"When I'm dead, I'll rest. Until then, it's optional."

"I'm not helping you until you sleep. Come on; the bed's close. That's it; one foot after the other. There you go. Now, sleep, Bruce."

"Clark?"

"Yes?'

"Don't..."

"Bruce? Oh, you're sleeping. Don't worry, I'll keep you safe. For once, please listen to me. We'll get through this like we always do."


	4. Red Flags

_**"Bats, you should seriously consider sleeping elsewhere than in a cage. Except if that's your kink. In that case, well, I won't judge- I mean, I have weirder kinks than that. But, you look kind of unsteady. Are you sure you're alright?"** _

Bruce's mind plays tricks on him.

Sometimes, when Clark falls perfectly in synch with him against Brainiac's forces, Bruce forgets that this Clark is a lie he helped create. For a second, he believes that their familiar partnership has continued uninterrupted.

Sometimes, he gets sucked into Clark's mistaken impression that they are together (especially when he groggily woke up to Clark smiling at him).

Bruce wants to blame it all on his lack of sleep, of the increased amount of dizziness he experiences nowadays.

But, he knows it's not solely tiredness responsible for his glitches. What a terrible weakness to have, Bruce thinks as he slips under one of Brainiac's ship's attack. Diana smashes the weaponized tentacle with bitter fury, most of which Bruce realizes, is aimed at him. Her eyes relentlessly follow him like a curse.

She'll kill him, he knows. Even Clark seems to know there's something off if the way he shuffles from one foot to the other during a lull in attacks is any indication.

"We're almost there," Clark whispers to dissipate the tension.

"Good," Diana answers. "Let's end this once and for all."

And they do.

Flawlessly, Diana and Clark coordinate attacks while Bruce provides long-range support; together, they overwhelm the monstrous and technologically wired Brainiac. They win.

"Kal, could you dispose of Brainiac while Bruce and I take care of the cleaning up here?"

Clark takes Brainiac and flies away with him.

Immediately after he is out of sight, sword held high, Diana advances on Bruce. Her face, scrunched in righteous fury, tells Bruce all he needs to know: the time has come.

Bruce rolls out of the way of the sword and ducks under her kick. Despite the small amount of exertion required, his shoulder aches with a previous injury.

Diana charges again, her hair swaying like a revenant's haze behind her.

Blocking the magic sword with a Batarang, Bruce throws a flash grenade at his former ally's feet.

Diana, always the warrior, closes her eyes in time and doesn't even falter in her assault. Instead, Bruce's attempt seems to stimulate her aggressivity even further.

Bruce's body betrays him in a way Diana's and Clark's won't; somehow, something stops operating properly and; he stumbles down.

Diana presses her foot on his chest and, wordlessly, aims a finishing blow with her sword.

"Clark. Diana is going to kill me," Bruce mumbles.

Faster than Bruce can interpret the motions, the sword clangs on the floor as Clark, eyes red, pushes Diana into the ship's wall.

"He's manipulating and lying to you, again, Kal," Diana snarls as she coughs blood. "He's using you, again, Kal."

Wordlessly, Clark smashes Diana's head in the wall again, and again. And again. And again.

She falls, listless, in his arms, blood spurting all over the floor. Clark's eyes glow red with intensity.

Bruce painfully gets to his feet, unsure whether he's safe or not.

Clark glares at him, fists clenched, with the same frustration as he had in his cell the first time they met. What does he remember?

"Is she still alive?"

Clark silently nods.

"Are the others done?"

Clark nods.

"We should go back to help with the cleanup."

Clark shakes his head and steps ever closer to Bruce. It takes all of Bruce's willpower not to reach for Kryptonite- he knows it would be disastrous if he does. Instead, he lets Clark walk into his personal space, hoping Clark does not remember their five-year fight- that Clark won't take over the Earth again.

Clark considers him seriously before hugging him with a sigh. "You're okay."

Despite the tight embrace, Bruce breathes more easily. "I'm fine."

"I want you, Bruce," Clark's voice trembles as he speaks into his neck. "You have no idea."

"I'm here," Bruce tries to reassure him, to calm him down.

Clark disentangles himself and states: "I want to touch you, kiss you... Let's go now."

"We have a cleanup duty."

"Bruce, you kept me in captivity for the past days; we just defeated Brainiac. Can't we have a little break, solely for ourselves? Think of it as payback for keeping me prisoner in the room. We both deserve something good." Clark touches Bruce's cheek almost gently.

The other man wavers; for one, he would rather deal with the cleanup and lock up Clark now; for two, he doesn't want to upset Clark now because Clark could just fly away- and, if Bruce uses Kryptonite now, this would be the end of 'this'-; for three, Bruce doesn't want to sleep with Clark under fake pretenses, further weakening whatever trust they might have developed.

Clark appears too aloof as he waits for Bruce to decide. None of his frustration is visible nor palpable; to the contrary, Clark seems to enjoy making Bruce decide.

"Let's go," Bruce decides, uneased with what Clark might do if he refuses.

Clark smiles and takes him in his arms. Soon, they're airborne, travelling at speeds surpassing any human crafts, enhancing Bruce's dizziness.

Somehow, they end up at an inhabited house. Bruce doesn't even know which continent they're on.

After Bruce is lowered, Clark starts kissing on on the mouth, hands seeking to open the clasps.

"Whose house is this?" Bruce asks between kisses.

Instead of answering, Clark licks his lips. Bruce pushes him away- Clark barely moves. "Whose house is this?"

The Kryptonian looks upset at the interruption but still answers. "Does it matter? Nobody's here. We'll clean up."

"Clark, we can't just break into someone's house like this."

Clark smirks. "Mmm. Is that right? We just saved the world, Bruce. Everyone owes us their lives. Besides, they won't even know we were here."

To say Bruce was disturbed with Clark's uncharacteristic behaviour would be an understatement.

Clark leans to kiss him. Bruce opens his mouth. He tries to forget the red flags: Diana's beat-down, Clark's seemingly newly found nonchalance with trespassing and Clark's bristling self-confidence. Clark wouldn't be kissing him if he remembered everything, Bruce reasons.

Clark wrings the Batsuit off him, leaving him gasping in his under armour. Vulnerable. At Clark's mercy. Without his Kryptonite.

He shivers.

"Shh. I'll take care of you in a second. Let me enjoy looking at you." Hot hands lightly touch his ribs, trying to sense his muscles and bones. Clark's eyes burn through him with their intensity- prior frustration melting into excitement and lust.

When lips press against Bruce's, Superman's costume rubs the full extension of his chest, sending tingles down Bruce's spine. It's soft and malleable- something Bruce hadn't priorly realized-.

Clark slightly tilts his head to get a better reach with his tongue- or at least, that's what Bruce supposes he wants, especially when that tongue goes on attack mode in his mouth. Bruce's body buckles at the pleasurable sensation, sensations it had been deprived of for far too long- years since he had given in to his lust. The apprehension of tomorrow, responsibility and tiredness all float away on Clark's tongue, lips and roving hands.

Moments later, or so it seems, Bruce and a naked Clark plunge into their orgasm.

Bruce feels undone under Clark's hands. It tastes good.

They should talk.

Just this once, Bruce lets the red flags unaddressed as he lies naked somewhere he doesn't know with a possibly unhinged Superman.

Tomorrow, they'll talk.


	5. Superman

_**"You can lock me up; you can torture me; I'm a child of the Gods: nothing can contain me or my fury forever."** _

The first thing Bruce notices as he wakes up is the mattress's softness. When was the last time he had slept in a bed other than accidentally falling in Clark's? Why did he associate Clark and sleep together?

Slowly, he tunes in his senses to determine whether he was in danger. He doesn't recognize the linen's smell nor the mattress's mellowness under his naked skin (which is bad for his back) nor the salty breeze passing through a window. He doesn't hear any traffic, music or television noise.

He isn't bound in any way to the bed or to anything else- which, in Bruce's opinion, is a great sign. Although Bruce knows he had sex, he doesn't feel sticky, just disoriented.

Bruce rolls on his back, taking in the light yellow room with dark wood furniture, taking in Clark's horrible t-shirt and shorts on his frame a few feet away.

His best friend grins at him before yanking the drapes open, flooding the room with natural light. Grumbling unhappily, Bruce closes his eyes and tucks his head away from the blaring sun.

"I've got coffee."

Bruce blindly rips the sacrificial mug from Clark's proffered hand and sips his bitterness away. The coffee, in all of its grandiose magnificence, is freshly brewed. No sugar, no milk. Coffee is meant to be drank like this.

Blearily, Bruce examines Clark again. For some reason, he looks elated. Where had his prior frustration melted away? What does Clark remember?

The man in question leans on the windowsill with eyes still fixed on Bruce.

For once, Clark doesn't fill the silence between them with his chatter; it evokes the growing unease in Bruce's stomach. Something's wrong.

"Where are we?" Bruce casually asks, unwilling to search for his Batman suit at this time, especially without knowing what Clark's deal is.

"Somewhere where we won't get disturbed."

Bruce nods understandably as he pushes himself upright. "I have to return."

Clark flashes his unadulterated, perfect teeth. "I don't think to return right now is the optimal solution."

"Really."

Clark tilts his head. "You're wondering how much I remember."

Bruce's grip on the sheet pooling on his lap tightens.

"Ask me the question," the Kryptonian coldly orders, smile still intact.

Their eyes meet in a staring contest.

" _Ask_ ," Clark commands again in the same tone Kal-El self-proclaimed tyrant used daily. Already, Bruce knows he's in the man's hands, in his cruel game. Kal-El could kill him at this very second and; there's nothing Bruce can do about it.

Curiosity gets the better of Bruce's pride. "What do you remember?"

"I remember you betrayed me, captured me with another Superman's help, imprisoned me and played with my mind."

He doesn't even look mad, which makes Bruce's predicament even more critical. The sunlight must have hastened his memory recovery. That was the most likely explanation for why Clark had barely been able to recall anything in days to remembering everything within 12 hours.

Clark caresses the wall softly with his knuckles. "I spent the night weighing my options." He raises one finger. "I thought about killing you in your sleep, freeing my allies and taking over the world. I thought about waking you up to torture you, freeing my allies and taking over the world." He raises one finger with a chuckle. "I was so angry, you see, I was missing a lot of the situation's potential."

Bruce had been ready for both of those possibilities when he had freed Superman. The truth of the matter was that Brainiac's plans for humanity were worse than Kal-El's; one would plunder what he wanted and destroy the rest, the latter would only kill some humans and remove their freedom. Overall, even if freeing Superman meant Bruce's death, it was worth it: Earth would survive.

Clark, however, had inferred those two first options were not ideal in these circumstances.

"I could return things to how they were a year ago. But, then, I thought about all the administrative and dull work of being this world's leader. All the disobedience and disrespect. All the death and lobotomies. And people still didn't respect me as they should."

Clark fixes his eyes in Bruce's. "And I'd lose _you_. I never knew I could _have you_ until I lost my memory."

"You don't," Bruce mutters under his breath. Clark smiles sweetly at him as if Bruce was a delusional child in need of protection.

"Yesterday, you were more honest." Clark crosses his arms as he leans heavily on the window behind him.

Sitting lower than Clark, naked, in an undisclosed location, Bruce feels utterly exposed and at a madman's mercy, as if he's the mouse to Clark's cat. The hints in his surroundings are faint and possibly misleading. Nobody but Clark knows he's here.

"What are the other options?"

Clark waves his hand in a vague direction. "I could forget to remember everything. Superman could save the world when needed, but he wouldn't be in charge." Now that was a shock option.

"What does Superman gain with this?" The suspicion in his tone belies his lack of composure.

"He knows all about the world's desperate need for heroes. Through your belligerence, they lost most of their defences against outside threats, especially against the numerous alien civilizations who've heard of their frailty," Clark replies. "They are weak enough to blind themselves to the obvious truth. They'd want to believe I'm reformed and harmless. They wouldn't know that; were I imprisoned again, I wouldn't help anyone ever again."

Eyes narrows at the Kryptonian. "You didn't answer the question."

Clark gazes at him from between his eyelashes. Terror courses through Bruce's heart, faint buzzing sounding in his ears; sudden understanding pierces through him.

His fingers clutch the sheet, his last useless shield. "No," Bruce growls as a cornered prey, ready to fight to his death.

Clark smirks, seemingly finding his defensive stance endearing, and steps closer like a victor to his spoils, a cat to his mouse.

Bruce rolls out bed on the opposite side of Clark and glares at him. The Kryptonian eyes him, appetite in his gleam, covetousness in his posture.

"You know, Bruce, for someone as cerebral as you are, you sure are adroit in bed." Even though Clark says a compliment, anyone could have heard the mocking accent in his tone. Bruce knows that's only a pretext on Clark's part, a slight at his former public identity: his man-whore persona.

Deep down, he understands why Clark wants to 'play the good guy' without the crushing responsibilities of being a leader; he also knows Clark craves to use Bruce's pragmatism against him, wants to control him, possess him in his totality. Not even Brainiac's robotic control could have equated that level of power, because Clark wants Bruce to entreat for Clark's help of his free will, without coercion; he wants Bruce to denigrate himself like a cheap prostitute begging for more abuse.

He knows Bruce will calculate how many people Superman can save, whether from alien attacks- such as Brainiac- or natural phenomenon or accidents. He knows Bruce will calculate the risk associated with Superman's intervention, whether he'll get bored and take over again. He knows Bruce kept statistics of how many people each superhero saved each year (Superman's numbers dwarfed any of the others).

Bruce can pretend to trust his word and lock him in the phantom zone or under a red light, but, then, Superman won't help him again in a crisis, even at the cost of humanity. That was his hidden threat, his ace: keep me or lock me up, there's no in-between this time.

Maybe, Clark knows that Bruce will blame himself for the people Superman might have saved. Maybe, Clark knows that Bruce has cooperated with unsavoury individuals for common goals on more than a few occasions.

Maybe, (hopefully not), Clark knows Bruce is drowning in sinking sand, losing everything until he's barely a shadow of his convictions, dimmer each day for lack of anyone to see _him_. Or love _him_ for who he is outside of his beliefs. Not the mythic and controversial Batman. Bruce. Bruce Thomas Wayne.

Each day, it gets harder and harder to go through the motion and to uphold his convictions.

Each day, Bruce dies a little more inside, disappears into the void of other people's expectations.

Bruce should not input that data in his equation. Whether he died or not, his life was one out of the billions. No one required Bruce to be happy.

Clark desires revenge for all of his losses: his former life, his allies, his freedom and his memories.

"Clothes," Bruce orders harshly.

Clark beams and brings him jeans, underwear and a grey polo shirt. Clark watches him dress with avid interest, which Bruce ignores to the best of his capacities. Gone is the underlying frustration in Clark's frame- Bruce supposes he thinks he can see what path Bruce has chosen.

As Bruce finishes dressing up, Clark holds a hand. "Wait."

And Bruce stills, focusing on a steady heartbeat, senses on the alarm.

Clark lifts his chin. "Yesterday, I helped you."

Bruce observes the other man's mannerisms: the way his predatory grin has broadened, his hips are drawn closer and, his eyes sparkle with an I-got-you amusement. 'Aren't you going to pay me back?' he seems to indicate.

Bruce refuses to play his game. He stays silent.

Instead of hitting Bruce, as Bruce had thought, Clark muses, "There's a plane that's just lost control. There are 346 passengers on it, twenty-five under the age of thirteen."

Bruce wants to hit him, strangle him until he's either the man he once knew or dead; he's just not sure which result he rather have.

Nonetheless, he grits out the words, "Please save them." Apparently, the shameful begging starts now.

Clark beams like the cat who got the cream, kisses him on the forehead and departs at superspeed.

Bruce runs outside and goes in every direction until he has to conclude he's stuck on a tropical island, probably in the South Pacific Ocean, with no other houses or people in view. He hits the first coconut tree near him until his hands are stained red.

He can't panic. He has to find a way to speak with Harley, to ask for Kryptonite.

' _What would it change to my predicament?_ ' he dejectedly thinks.

Even if he captures Clark, could he let those random citizens die for Bruce's cautiousness? Would Bruce add their names to the tally of the ones he wasn't strong enough to save? Should he add all the ones Clark would have saved had it not been for his imprisonment?

Notwithstanding his usefulness, Bruce should lock up Clark again. All the signs show that Clark was unrepentant, uncontrolled, manipulative, vindictive and power-hungry. One day, he'd grow bored of playing the 'good guy' or of torturing Bruce. One day, he'd return the Earth to its Regime days.

Before Bruce can think things through, Superman lands with a thud. "How did you hurt yourself?"

Bruce looks at him, the man who hasn't physically changed since his mind broke down. ' _By once believing in you_ ,' he doesn't say.

Superman furrows his eyebrows. Bruce should take a stand, should get kill, here in the middle of nowhere without fanfare.

"I hit a tree," he answers.

"Did you win?" It sounds like his old friend and acts with the same worry about his physical and mental wellbeing. It looks like his old friend. But he's not.

This time, Bruce would play into Clark's hands.

Maybe, next time, Bruce won't be weak; he won't lean in his old friend's embrace; he won't bite his tongue and lips with anger; he won't answer his questions so willingly; he won't do what Clark asks.

Maybe, this time, Bruce will give him what he wants because he wants someone to hate- or love, does it matter which at this junction?

This time, although it shall be in shame and disgust, Bruce will be alive.

Clark, for all of his insanity, makes him want to sleep, eat, have sex and fight: to live, really.

And Bruce hates him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments!


End file.
